Do You Ever Feel Like You Should Apologize to Your Exes? (This Story May Bring Back Some Weird Memories!)

Yesterday, some coworkers were randomly talking about Build-a-Bear Workshop when it hit me. A flash of tiny overalls. A pink bow around a furry ear. A paw that, when pressed, emitted a prerecorded sound of—no! No! Noooo! "NO!" I yelped, involuntarily. My coworkers paused their conversation and looked at me quizzically. "You guys…I just remembered something. I made my high school boyfriend a Build-a-Bear...of myself…" My coworkers winced. I continued. ...and then I insisted he take it with him to college." The coworkers gasped. I buried my head in my hands, in shame, because what I didn't understand then as a lovestruck 18-year-old, I can see all too clearly, as a 26-year-old: Forcing (and I'm sure I did force, I was quite insistent at that particular age) an 18-year-old man to show up to college with a stuffed bear in overalls and a pink bow is a near criminal offense. I think—oh god, it's hard to type this—but I think I was completely offended when I came to visit him at college and found the poor bear stuffed near the back of his closet. I mean, of course it was! This poor kid had a roommate and a reputation

Yesterday, some coworkers were randomly talking about Build-a-Bear Workshop when it hit me. A flash of tiny overalls. A pink bow around a furry ear. A paw that, when pressed, emitted a prerecorded sound of—no! No! Noooo!

"NO!" I yelped, involuntarily.

My coworkers paused their conversation and looked at me quizzically.

"You guys…I just remembered something. I made my high school boyfriend a Build-a-Bear...of myself…"

My coworkers winced. I continued.

...and then I insisted he take it with him to college."

The coworkers gasped. I buried my head in my hands, in shame, because what I didn't understand then as a lovestruck 18-year-old, I can see all too clearly, as a 26-year-old: Forcing (and I'm sure I did force, I was quite insistent at that particular age) an 18-year-old man to show up to college with a stuffed bear in overalls and a pink bow is a near criminal offense. I think—oh god, it's hard to type this—but I think I was completely offended when I came to visit him at college and found the poor bear stuffed near the back of his closet. I mean, of course it was! This poor kid had a roommate and a reputation to think of! It was college. But at the time, I made a fuss and pouted and whined until the bear was placed prominently on his shelf. (For the duration of my visit and not a second longer, no doubt.)

I didn't know any better. I thought I was allowed to do that. I thought that's what being in a relationship meant—giving each other bears and public displays of affection and being worshiped. I learned the truth eventually, but not in time for that boyfriend.

So, sincerest apologies to that ex.

And apologies to the guy I dated when I was 22, who had fantastic taste, who let me pick a restaurant, any restaurant in New York, for dinner one night and let me drag him all the way downtown to what I now realize is the definition of mediocre Italian dining. Because I was so young and so unsophisticated then, and didn't realize there was a difference between good restaurants and bad. He didn't complain and didn't say anything negative about his Olive Garden-caliber marinara. It wasn't until at least a year later that I realized, with a pang, what an embarrassing dining choice that was. Oh, it's not the world's greatest offense, certainly not as bad as the mini-me Build-a-Bear. But it's a regret, a small but persistent one. Sorry, dude. I shouldn't have picked that restaurant.

And sorry, so sorry, to the ex with whom I had an argument about table manners. He was right. It doesn't really matter which is the wine glass and which is the water glass. I mean, no, I still fundamentally think that matters. But not more than someone's feelings, not more than a tranquil dining experience, not more than a relationship. Whoops. I should have let that one go. I am sorry when I think about it now.

These aren't big regrets. These aren't relationship-ending offenses. These aren't the straws that broke backs, or watershed moments. They're just little things that I'm sorry about.

And I've learned from them, sure. I won't be returning to Build-a-Bear for romantic purposes, that's for sure.

But I know that these missteps will likely be replaced by others in future relationships.